close. Very, very close.
What’s worse? Running a surf shop. Where everybody comes back from the beach and tells you how good it was, ‘you really should have closed, man’…
onliest little problem with that is that if you did that once, and ‘you really should have’ comes by for a bar of wax, he’ll not only never darken your door again, he’ll start telling everybody that you went out of business or something equally helpful.
before work, maybe, except You Really will be there and be telling you about the board he got someplace else, why don’t you carry those instead of what you have ( they suck, is why, as does the company) .
After work… well, if you can get to the beach from the lot before the sun goes down without half the surfing population stopping you to bum wax, ask questions, bitch, moan, generally piss away your time… and you can’t blow 'em off if you want to have a viable shop.
Me, I like after the shop is closed for the season. Ideally, in another country where they don’t speak english. And your chances of bumping into a customer are slim to none.
look, after running a shop for the same guy for over 20 years…damn, almost 30…for a guy who is a dear and good friend besides who pays me all he reasonably can for the job without him going under, it’s still not a whole lot better money than stocking shelves.
But I’m beginning to see outside. I know I am worthy. My existence is proof of my place in the universe. Though the awesomeness of the Creator, I know my worth is independent of what others think of me. It cannot be gotten though material means, it cannot be gotten by actions. Not by owning as much treasure as human eyes can see, or having extraordinary abilities, it is fueled by a belief that I exist for a reason, the One who set all things in motion decided to carefully craft my being. Can I live in that belief? This is my story . . .
your existence is like mine, proof that if someone or something made all this, he or it enjoys a good chuckle at least as much as the next creator. Consider the platypus, the great bustard, the quayle. And these are fairly successful species.
your worth is, alas like mine, no better than anyone else’s. Indeed, the dimmest, most useless fool on the planet thinks they have it all over you. Just ask them. And the really scary thing is that at least one of them may be right.
Actions, right actions ( to swipe a zen term ) increase ones worth to oneself. Temporarily, until ( like Newtonian physics) an equal and opposite reaction come along to bring you to a screeching halt.
Owning treasure may not increase one’s worth. But then again, a good Barca-Lounger makes being worthless far more comfortable. Especially the kind that vibrate.
And you can never have enough warm socks. Especially in wet weather.
Having extraordinary abilities helps. It really does. Does Superman have to wait for elevators or deal with commuter traffic? naaah.
Lastly…when the Great Hairy Whatever set things in motion to create my being…I kinda wonder if he stopped to read the instructions first. I mean, teeth for instance. A grinding apparatus made of modified bones that stick through the skin and can be attacked and damaged by the very juices the mouth produces in combination with the foods that said mouth likes to have in it. The spine… look, you want something to stand upright for any length of time, you don’t give it a supporting structure that combines the least useful properties of a bicycle chain and a layer cake with a little bit of slinky thrown in for laughs. Let alone human male reproductive apparatus - what kind of argument for ‘intelligent design’ is that? Design, maybe, but intelligent? The first small accident climbing a tree teaches any boy that ‘this isn’t the best place to put those’.
… lets put it this way, the main wonder of the human body is that it functions at all. The human mind? uhmmmmmm - if that is meant to, in a small way, reproduce the mind of a creator, then I think the creator is really Jerry Lewis, maybe Billy Connolly or possibly Steven Wright. There are some decidedly weird things going on. Pick up any newspaper…
Now, me…if I was put on earth for a reason besides being part of a massive joke, it was and remains so that I can have a good time. Which on occasion may consist mostly of watching my fellow punch lines go about their parts in the Grand Joke.
But hey, it beats whatevers second…